I'll be Home for Christmas 3/4
Those two matchmakers....
Tim had suffered through more lights shined in his eyes in the last two hours than he had in the last two years, but he sat patiently as Ducky gave him one more examination. Eventually even Ducky was satisfied that he was all right. "Well, Timothy, you seem to be a very lucky young man, but I want you to take it easy for a few days. No doubt you are going to be feeling the affects of your little adventure in the morning. Now, I am going to stay here in town tonight, so Jethro doesn't worry about his father, while he takes you to Stillwater to rest." Actually, the two matchmakers had other reasons for Ducky to stay out of the way tonight, but this was a much better story.
If McGee hadn't been so tired, the investigator in him might have picked up on something, but at this point, all he cared about was crawling into a bed somewhere. "Thanks, Ducky."
As he walked in, Gibbs gave the Medical Examiner an odd look, wondering how Ducky had known Jackson decided that, since he'd been here with McGee at the time. Deciding that he really didn't want to know, he focused on McGee instead. "You ready to get out of here?"
"Yeah." Tim swayed as he stood, but both Gibbs and Ducky were there to catch him.
"Ducky, are you sure he's all right?"
Trying not to smile at the not so subtle fussing, Ducky reassured Gibbs. "He's fine, Jethro, just exhausted. Come on, I'll walk the two of you out to the car." Gibbs had Tim tucked tightly against him as Ducky followed behind. Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, Tim heard the discussion about the morning interview with the FBI, but he didn't comment.
Once in the car, Gibbs followed the familiar roads back to his hometown. Since he'd left home, Stillwater had become a bedroom community for Bloomsburg, but the roads were unchanged. Spotlights and several wreckers indicated the scene of the accident, and Gibbs pulled over to examine the scene personally. McGee didn't stir as the car came to a stop.
Gibbs flashed his badge as he climbed over the tape and scrambled down into the dry gully McGee's car had landed in. Dayton hadn't mentioned how much paint transfer there had been, but the multiple scrapes of black paint on the back and side of the Porsche showed how many times he was hit before the obviously larger vehicle had forced him off the road. Gibbs stopped in his tracks as he saw the damage on the driver's side. A large tree branch had impaled the car through the windshield before tearing a hole through the center of the driver's seat. The blood stains gave him a pretty good indication of how Tim had twisted and thrown himself across the center console and passenger's seat to survive the impact. It took a few deep breaths before Gibbs was reasonably sure he wasn't going to lose it. He'd always worried about Tim's reflexes, but his survival showed just how honed those reflexes had become. A member of the wrecker crew came up to him, breaking his train of thought.
"This is your agent's car, right?"
Gibbs nodded, not yet trusting his voice as he continued to stare at the once pristine sports car. Not picking up on the stress, the young man continued. "Do you want the luggage from the back? I heard he was pretty bloody when he was taken out; he probably wants clean clothes."
Another nod, and a pile of bags appeared at his feet. Gibbs threw the two duffel bags over his shoulder before picking up the suitcase and the bag of presents McGee had been taking home to his family. A family that wasn't even aware how close they came to losing him today. He returned to the borrowed car and dumped the bags in the trunk before looking in the window at his sleeping agent. McGee was draped across the back seat, on his right side. His left arm was supported by a sling to ease the strain on his shoulder. At this angle, he could better see that both his jacket and the collar of his shirt was soaked with drying blood.
Deciding to let the other man sleep, Gibbs pulled away from the scene with a gentle acceleration, determined to not disturb his rest. It was a short drive and soon he was pulling into his father's driveway.
"McGee? Tim, can you walk?" Gibbs leaned into the car and helped him sit up. Tim blinked slowly as he tried to get his bearings.
"Yeah, sure."
Totally unconvinced, Gibbs stayed within arms reach as he followed McGee up the stairs. He opened the door to his old room, but McGee had other ideas. "I need a shower first."
"I'm not so sure that's a good idea." Gibbs thought about offering to wash the blood off his neck, but he was too unsettled to trust himself.
Remembering from his last visit to Stillwater, Tim lumbered down the hallway towards the small bathroom. "I'll never be able to sleep like this."
"Just a quick rinse, Tim. I don't think you're going to stay upright for much more than that." The weak nod he got in return told him he was right. Gibbs stayed in the hallway outside the bathroom door until he heard the water turn on. Once he knew McGee was safely in the shower, he returned to the car to get their bags.
Dropping the suitcase and the two duffel bags on the bed, Gibbs quickly dug through Tim's to find him something comfortable to sleep in. He was pretty sure that a t-shirt would be difficult to pull on right now, so he settled for a pair of sweatpants and made one last trip downstairs to kick the heat up a notch. He returned upstairs and tapped once on the door before letting himself into the bathroom.
Standing at the sink, a towel wrapped around his waist, McGee didn't immediately notice his arrival and Gibbs was able to study him in an unguarded moment. The stitches, barely noticeable through his water darkened hair, he knew about. The scattered bruises were not a surprise. What made his blood run cold was the painful looking scrape along Tim's left arm. Gibbs immediately knew just how close McGee came to being skewered along with the destroyed car. By its own volition, his hand reached out and brushed the raw and angry looking mark.
Startled, Tim looked up and his eyes met Gibbs' in the mirror before he turned to face the older man. Gibbs hand slid up to cradle the side of Tim's face. "I almost lost you today."
"Gibbs..."
The breathless moan of his name was almost Gibbs' undoing. He stepped closer and pulled Tim's head closer so their foreheads touched. Still cradling Tim's face, his thumb brushed the swollen lip while with his other hand, he reached around and stroked up and down Tim's back. "Gonna take care of you, Timmy."
His injured arm didn't move much, just enough for his hand to stroke against Gibbs' belly, as Tim shifted closer. When a woman called him Timmy, it always struck him as childish, but hearing Gibbs whisper it with such need lit a fire in his core. The thumb against his lip stopped what he was going to say.
"Not until you're recovered. Let's get you in bed." Gibbs smiled at the sparkle in the other man's eyes. "Alone, I won't risk hurting you." Any doubt he had about waiting were dashed as he watched McGee limp out of the bathroom. He got a good look when Tim dropped the towel and he helped him into the sweatpants, but he kept his touch as clinical as possible. A moan from Tim weakened his resolve and Gibbs reached into the fabric for a quick squeeze. "I'll make it worth the wait, Tim. Right now, you need to recover."
Tim had never seen this tender side of Gibbs. "I'm all right. If I wasn't, they wouldn't have released me from the hospital."
"I saw the car." Gibbs froze, he hadn't planned on mentioning that to McGee until he was more mobile, but it was too late now. He bent down and kissed the scrape on Tim's arm. "If your reactions had been a second slower, you would died in that gully. You would have died before I could ever tell you how much you mean to me." To cover up how close he was to breaking down, he pulled the blankets up around Tim as he shifted to lay slightly on his right side. An extra pillow was put to use as support for the damaged shoulder.
"This was your old room?" Tim deliberately changed the subject to give Gibbs a break. "All the fantasies I've had of being in your bed, this wasn't quite what I was expecting." He reached out and interlaced his fingers with Gibbs'.
Not wanting to pull away, Gibbs settled onto the floor, content to watch as Tim drifted off to sleep.
###
The morning sun reflecting off the snow covered ground made the room bright and cheery when Tim woke the next morning. A note reminding him that Gibbs was sitting in on the interview with his father and admonishing him to take it easy until he got back was propped up on the nightstand. Smiling at the worry, Tim carefully sat up and took stock of how he was feeling. Once he was convinced that nothing was going to fall off, he climbed out of bed, determined to get the store back up and running before they brought Jackson home from the hospital.
###
Gibbs leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his cheeks in frustration. The tiny burg of Stillwater had been at the mercy of this gang for weeks now. Their lab was believed to be in a building about twenty miles out of town on an abandoned farm. Technically it was out of the jurisdiction of the local sheriff, but close enough that their path to sell their drugs took them through Stillwater. The nearby towns had been overwhelmed by the crime wave themselves, and no help was available for the small village The timid citizens and overwhelmed police force made Stillwater an easy target. Only a few people had stood up to them, led by Jackson Gibbs.
One of the agents brought in a map and Jackson was able to point out where he suspected the gang members were hiding. Gibbs didn't ask to be included in on the raid, but when he followed the agents out of the hospital, they didn't stop him.
Putting on a FBI vest seemed wrong, but Gibbs hadn't thought to bring his own from DC. Apparently understand his need to be actively involved, the agent in charge of the raid, Agent Willet, reviewed the options with him before making a final decision on the breakdown of the raid. Since he wasn't part of the FBI team, he and Dayton were paired up with two more agents on the far edge of the farm. Luckily, several gang members made a break for it. Even luckier, as far as Gibbs was concerned, they resisted arrest.
He happily shoved his suspect into a chair in the state police office the FBI had taken over. While a Trooper and several FBI agents observed from the other side of the mirror, Gibbs set about learning all there was to know about the group that was manufacturing Meth near his hometown.
###
Ducky arrived at the hospital with the morning paper, two cups of coffee, and two take out breakfasts from the restaurant across from the hospital. Jackson was awake and waiting for him. "Are you sure it worked? I haven't gotten any calls from the neighbors complaining about the noise last night."
Jackson accepted the coffee as Ducky reminded him of his son's temperament. "Timothy was rather banged up last night. I'm sure Jethro was more concerned about taking care of him. Now, let's see if we can have a proper breakfast before one of the nurses comes in with the pitiful excuse for food they try to con their patients into eating."
Since the next day was Christmas Eve, the two new friends settled in to plan a festive dinner. If their plans worked out, they would have something to celebrate.
###
"Say, Agent Gibbs, you any relation to that old fart with the store? Old man just didn't know his place, ya' know?" The junkie didn't know when to shut up, but he started to understand when Gibbs grabbed him by the throat and dragged him across the table.
"Yeah, that old man is my old man, hotshot. You picked the wrong old man and the wrong town to mess with." Nose to nose, he waited for the punk to blink. It wasn't a long wait, and then Gibbs shoved him back into his seat.
Bravado was a hard thing to give up. "You can't treat me like this, I got rights. You FBI guys have to follow the rules."
"Wrong agency, dipstick." Still looming over him, Gibbs pulled out his badge. Just a quick glance was given; enough to show that it wasn't an FBI badge, but not long enough to read the initials embossed into the metal.
That got his attention as the suspect started looking around. "What do you mean, wrong agency? Who are you then?"
"I'm the guy that chases terrorists, and I caught you. Do you know what that means?" It was easy when they were this stupid.
"Umm, no?"
Gibbs leaned over and whispered in his ear. "It means that no one is going to bat an eye when I put your sorry ass on a transport to Gitmo where you will have no rights whatsoever. Now, where is your boss? Where is Kenny Clayton?"
The realization that he was now playing with the big boys took the wind out his sails. "He was going back to Stillwater to take care of the old man."
Gibbs slammed his hands down on the table and stormed out of the room. Dayton met him in the hallway. "Your dad's still at the hospital in Bloomsburg, what's the problem?"
"McGee's in Stillwater." Gibbs had already hit the speed dial for McGee's phone when he remembered seeing it in pieces on the floor of his destroyed car. It took a few seconds to remember the number for his father's store. McGee picked up on the third ring but the line went dead before Gibbs could warn him.
###
Concerned about the mix of the various cleaning agents that were poured out on the floor and the vapors that cleaning them would stir up, McGee borrowed several large fans from the volunteer fire department. The hardware section of the store provided face masks and he gingerly placed one on his face, moving the elastic band so that it didn't touch the stitches in his scalp. By noon the floors were clean enough that his feet no longer stuck as he walked. By three in the afternoon, the store was almost ready for business. The glass company was scheduled to arrive with the new windows at four, so Tim moved outside to remove the plywood covers he had placed the day before.
The owner of the gas station was standing outside the store when Tim walked out. The old man made Jackson look young as he scowled at McGee. "What is it with you city folk, you got to stick your nose into things that don't concern you."
"Well, somebody sure the heck needs to." McGee was just tired and sore enough to let his rare temper show through. A crowd was starting to gather and McGee turned to confront them. "If somebody offers your children drugs, do you expect them to turn it down?" After a great deal of murmuring in the affirmative, he continued. "Why do you expect your kids to stand up to something that you adults won't stand up against? Go on, get out of here. Go hide in your homes and decide how to explain it to your kids." Ignoring the group as they slipped away as well as the pain in his shoulder, McGee ripped the plywood off the windows before returning inside to continue the clean up. By the time the sidewalk outside the store was almost empty, a black truck was coming down the street.
Kenny Clayton was furious. He'd been lucky to be just arriving back at the farm when the raid started and had managed to fade into the woods without being seen, but the old man and his refusal to back down had cost Clayton a great deal of money. He'd been holding onto one grenade from a stolen shipment of military weapons and he couldn't think of a better way to use it. Gunning the engine, he laughed as the townsfolk scattered.
McGee finished tying the last trash bag closed as the phone rang. It was the first time he'd heard it since he'd started working that morning. As he reached out and picked up the receiver, a black truck with front end damage caught his attention. He dropped the phone and ran the second he saw the driver lob something through the remains of the broken window.
Tim had suffered through more lights shined in his eyes in the last two hours than he had in the last two years, but he sat patiently as Ducky gave him one more examination. Eventually even Ducky was satisfied that he was all right. "Well, Timothy, you seem to be a very lucky young man, but I want you to take it easy for a few days. No doubt you are going to be feeling the affects of your little adventure in the morning. Now, I am going to stay here in town tonight, so Jethro doesn't worry about his father, while he takes you to Stillwater to rest." Actually, the two matchmakers had other reasons for Ducky to stay out of the way tonight, but this was a much better story.
If McGee hadn't been so tired, the investigator in him might have picked up on something, but at this point, all he cared about was crawling into a bed somewhere. "Thanks, Ducky."
As he walked in, Gibbs gave the Medical Examiner an odd look, wondering how Ducky had known Jackson decided that, since he'd been here with McGee at the time. Deciding that he really didn't want to know, he focused on McGee instead. "You ready to get out of here?"
"Yeah." Tim swayed as he stood, but both Gibbs and Ducky were there to catch him.
"Ducky, are you sure he's all right?"
Trying not to smile at the not so subtle fussing, Ducky reassured Gibbs. "He's fine, Jethro, just exhausted. Come on, I'll walk the two of you out to the car." Gibbs had Tim tucked tightly against him as Ducky followed behind. Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, Tim heard the discussion about the morning interview with the FBI, but he didn't comment.
Once in the car, Gibbs followed the familiar roads back to his hometown. Since he'd left home, Stillwater had become a bedroom community for Bloomsburg, but the roads were unchanged. Spotlights and several wreckers indicated the scene of the accident, and Gibbs pulled over to examine the scene personally. McGee didn't stir as the car came to a stop.
Gibbs flashed his badge as he climbed over the tape and scrambled down into the dry gully McGee's car had landed in. Dayton hadn't mentioned how much paint transfer there had been, but the multiple scrapes of black paint on the back and side of the Porsche showed how many times he was hit before the obviously larger vehicle had forced him off the road. Gibbs stopped in his tracks as he saw the damage on the driver's side. A large tree branch had impaled the car through the windshield before tearing a hole through the center of the driver's seat. The blood stains gave him a pretty good indication of how Tim had twisted and thrown himself across the center console and passenger's seat to survive the impact. It took a few deep breaths before Gibbs was reasonably sure he wasn't going to lose it. He'd always worried about Tim's reflexes, but his survival showed just how honed those reflexes had become. A member of the wrecker crew came up to him, breaking his train of thought.
"This is your agent's car, right?"
Gibbs nodded, not yet trusting his voice as he continued to stare at the once pristine sports car. Not picking up on the stress, the young man continued. "Do you want the luggage from the back? I heard he was pretty bloody when he was taken out; he probably wants clean clothes."
Another nod, and a pile of bags appeared at his feet. Gibbs threw the two duffel bags over his shoulder before picking up the suitcase and the bag of presents McGee had been taking home to his family. A family that wasn't even aware how close they came to losing him today. He returned to the borrowed car and dumped the bags in the trunk before looking in the window at his sleeping agent. McGee was draped across the back seat, on his right side. His left arm was supported by a sling to ease the strain on his shoulder. At this angle, he could better see that both his jacket and the collar of his shirt was soaked with drying blood.
Deciding to let the other man sleep, Gibbs pulled away from the scene with a gentle acceleration, determined to not disturb his rest. It was a short drive and soon he was pulling into his father's driveway.
"McGee? Tim, can you walk?" Gibbs leaned into the car and helped him sit up. Tim blinked slowly as he tried to get his bearings.
"Yeah, sure."
Totally unconvinced, Gibbs stayed within arms reach as he followed McGee up the stairs. He opened the door to his old room, but McGee had other ideas. "I need a shower first."
"I'm not so sure that's a good idea." Gibbs thought about offering to wash the blood off his neck, but he was too unsettled to trust himself.
Remembering from his last visit to Stillwater, Tim lumbered down the hallway towards the small bathroom. "I'll never be able to sleep like this."
"Just a quick rinse, Tim. I don't think you're going to stay upright for much more than that." The weak nod he got in return told him he was right. Gibbs stayed in the hallway outside the bathroom door until he heard the water turn on. Once he knew McGee was safely in the shower, he returned to the car to get their bags.
Dropping the suitcase and the two duffel bags on the bed, Gibbs quickly dug through Tim's to find him something comfortable to sleep in. He was pretty sure that a t-shirt would be difficult to pull on right now, so he settled for a pair of sweatpants and made one last trip downstairs to kick the heat up a notch. He returned upstairs and tapped once on the door before letting himself into the bathroom.
Standing at the sink, a towel wrapped around his waist, McGee didn't immediately notice his arrival and Gibbs was able to study him in an unguarded moment. The stitches, barely noticeable through his water darkened hair, he knew about. The scattered bruises were not a surprise. What made his blood run cold was the painful looking scrape along Tim's left arm. Gibbs immediately knew just how close McGee came to being skewered along with the destroyed car. By its own volition, his hand reached out and brushed the raw and angry looking mark.
Startled, Tim looked up and his eyes met Gibbs' in the mirror before he turned to face the older man. Gibbs hand slid up to cradle the side of Tim's face. "I almost lost you today."
"Gibbs..."
The breathless moan of his name was almost Gibbs' undoing. He stepped closer and pulled Tim's head closer so their foreheads touched. Still cradling Tim's face, his thumb brushed the swollen lip while with his other hand, he reached around and stroked up and down Tim's back. "Gonna take care of you, Timmy."
His injured arm didn't move much, just enough for his hand to stroke against Gibbs' belly, as Tim shifted closer. When a woman called him Timmy, it always struck him as childish, but hearing Gibbs whisper it with such need lit a fire in his core. The thumb against his lip stopped what he was going to say.
"Not until you're recovered. Let's get you in bed." Gibbs smiled at the sparkle in the other man's eyes. "Alone, I won't risk hurting you." Any doubt he had about waiting were dashed as he watched McGee limp out of the bathroom. He got a good look when Tim dropped the towel and he helped him into the sweatpants, but he kept his touch as clinical as possible. A moan from Tim weakened his resolve and Gibbs reached into the fabric for a quick squeeze. "I'll make it worth the wait, Tim. Right now, you need to recover."
Tim had never seen this tender side of Gibbs. "I'm all right. If I wasn't, they wouldn't have released me from the hospital."
"I saw the car." Gibbs froze, he hadn't planned on mentioning that to McGee until he was more mobile, but it was too late now. He bent down and kissed the scrape on Tim's arm. "If your reactions had been a second slower, you would died in that gully. You would have died before I could ever tell you how much you mean to me." To cover up how close he was to breaking down, he pulled the blankets up around Tim as he shifted to lay slightly on his right side. An extra pillow was put to use as support for the damaged shoulder.
"This was your old room?" Tim deliberately changed the subject to give Gibbs a break. "All the fantasies I've had of being in your bed, this wasn't quite what I was expecting." He reached out and interlaced his fingers with Gibbs'.
Not wanting to pull away, Gibbs settled onto the floor, content to watch as Tim drifted off to sleep.
###
The morning sun reflecting off the snow covered ground made the room bright and cheery when Tim woke the next morning. A note reminding him that Gibbs was sitting in on the interview with his father and admonishing him to take it easy until he got back was propped up on the nightstand. Smiling at the worry, Tim carefully sat up and took stock of how he was feeling. Once he was convinced that nothing was going to fall off, he climbed out of bed, determined to get the store back up and running before they brought Jackson home from the hospital.
###
Gibbs leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his cheeks in frustration. The tiny burg of Stillwater had been at the mercy of this gang for weeks now. Their lab was believed to be in a building about twenty miles out of town on an abandoned farm. Technically it was out of the jurisdiction of the local sheriff, but close enough that their path to sell their drugs took them through Stillwater. The nearby towns had been overwhelmed by the crime wave themselves, and no help was available for the small village The timid citizens and overwhelmed police force made Stillwater an easy target. Only a few people had stood up to them, led by Jackson Gibbs.
One of the agents brought in a map and Jackson was able to point out where he suspected the gang members were hiding. Gibbs didn't ask to be included in on the raid, but when he followed the agents out of the hospital, they didn't stop him.
Putting on a FBI vest seemed wrong, but Gibbs hadn't thought to bring his own from DC. Apparently understand his need to be actively involved, the agent in charge of the raid, Agent Willet, reviewed the options with him before making a final decision on the breakdown of the raid. Since he wasn't part of the FBI team, he and Dayton were paired up with two more agents on the far edge of the farm. Luckily, several gang members made a break for it. Even luckier, as far as Gibbs was concerned, they resisted arrest.
He happily shoved his suspect into a chair in the state police office the FBI had taken over. While a Trooper and several FBI agents observed from the other side of the mirror, Gibbs set about learning all there was to know about the group that was manufacturing Meth near his hometown.
###
Ducky arrived at the hospital with the morning paper, two cups of coffee, and two take out breakfasts from the restaurant across from the hospital. Jackson was awake and waiting for him. "Are you sure it worked? I haven't gotten any calls from the neighbors complaining about the noise last night."
Jackson accepted the coffee as Ducky reminded him of his son's temperament. "Timothy was rather banged up last night. I'm sure Jethro was more concerned about taking care of him. Now, let's see if we can have a proper breakfast before one of the nurses comes in with the pitiful excuse for food they try to con their patients into eating."
Since the next day was Christmas Eve, the two new friends settled in to plan a festive dinner. If their plans worked out, they would have something to celebrate.
###
"Say, Agent Gibbs, you any relation to that old fart with the store? Old man just didn't know his place, ya' know?" The junkie didn't know when to shut up, but he started to understand when Gibbs grabbed him by the throat and dragged him across the table.
"Yeah, that old man is my old man, hotshot. You picked the wrong old man and the wrong town to mess with." Nose to nose, he waited for the punk to blink. It wasn't a long wait, and then Gibbs shoved him back into his seat.
Bravado was a hard thing to give up. "You can't treat me like this, I got rights. You FBI guys have to follow the rules."
"Wrong agency, dipstick." Still looming over him, Gibbs pulled out his badge. Just a quick glance was given; enough to show that it wasn't an FBI badge, but not long enough to read the initials embossed into the metal.
That got his attention as the suspect started looking around. "What do you mean, wrong agency? Who are you then?"
"I'm the guy that chases terrorists, and I caught you. Do you know what that means?" It was easy when they were this stupid.
"Umm, no?"
Gibbs leaned over and whispered in his ear. "It means that no one is going to bat an eye when I put your sorry ass on a transport to Gitmo where you will have no rights whatsoever. Now, where is your boss? Where is Kenny Clayton?"
The realization that he was now playing with the big boys took the wind out his sails. "He was going back to Stillwater to take care of the old man."
Gibbs slammed his hands down on the table and stormed out of the room. Dayton met him in the hallway. "Your dad's still at the hospital in Bloomsburg, what's the problem?"
"McGee's in Stillwater." Gibbs had already hit the speed dial for McGee's phone when he remembered seeing it in pieces on the floor of his destroyed car. It took a few seconds to remember the number for his father's store. McGee picked up on the third ring but the line went dead before Gibbs could warn him.
###
Concerned about the mix of the various cleaning agents that were poured out on the floor and the vapors that cleaning them would stir up, McGee borrowed several large fans from the volunteer fire department. The hardware section of the store provided face masks and he gingerly placed one on his face, moving the elastic band so that it didn't touch the stitches in his scalp. By noon the floors were clean enough that his feet no longer stuck as he walked. By three in the afternoon, the store was almost ready for business. The glass company was scheduled to arrive with the new windows at four, so Tim moved outside to remove the plywood covers he had placed the day before.
The owner of the gas station was standing outside the store when Tim walked out. The old man made Jackson look young as he scowled at McGee. "What is it with you city folk, you got to stick your nose into things that don't concern you."
"Well, somebody sure the heck needs to." McGee was just tired and sore enough to let his rare temper show through. A crowd was starting to gather and McGee turned to confront them. "If somebody offers your children drugs, do you expect them to turn it down?" After a great deal of murmuring in the affirmative, he continued. "Why do you expect your kids to stand up to something that you adults won't stand up against? Go on, get out of here. Go hide in your homes and decide how to explain it to your kids." Ignoring the group as they slipped away as well as the pain in his shoulder, McGee ripped the plywood off the windows before returning inside to continue the clean up. By the time the sidewalk outside the store was almost empty, a black truck was coming down the street.
Kenny Clayton was furious. He'd been lucky to be just arriving back at the farm when the raid started and had managed to fade into the woods without being seen, but the old man and his refusal to back down had cost Clayton a great deal of money. He'd been holding onto one grenade from a stolen shipment of military weapons and he couldn't think of a better way to use it. Gunning the engine, he laughed as the townsfolk scattered.
McGee finished tying the last trash bag closed as the phone rang. It was the first time he'd heard it since he'd started working that morning. As he reached out and picked up the receiver, a black truck with front end damage caught his attention. He dropped the phone and ran the second he saw the driver lob something through the remains of the broken window.